AS UB40 once memorably, and prophetically, asked, “there’s a rat in mi kitchen, what am I gonna do?” The reggae band is playing The Northern Echo Arena on May 28, but for me the problem is much more pressing.

No one has yet spotted a rodent in our kitchen, but there are undeniable signs, like disappearing scraps and droppings beneath the dishwasher. And at night, when all the world’s asleep, there are unmistakeable scuttlings deep inside the cavity wall.

For the last fortnight, I’ve been scrabbling around the kitchen floor, pulling off kickboards and peering under units by torchlight, desperately trying to find a point of access. The morning after the general election was surprisingly called, I was lying on the floor with my phone in one hand, as a Labour MP fumed about the state of the party, and a can of expanding foam in the other, stretching to fill in several generations of old pipeholes and shoddy workmanship.

I blame the cat, Morris. He is the formerly starving ginger stray who lovebombed his way into the affections of certain members of my family. It is his foodbowl that is the attraction. He is now so confident of where his next meal is coming from that he does nothing to defend his leftovers – he just lies on the floor with his legs in the air waiting to have his tummy tickled. This enables a sneak thief to literally clean up, licking his bowl clean.

The battle has now become personal. I seal up a hole – I’ve emptied three cans of foam inside the kitchen and cemented up every crack and cranny on the outside – and when 24 hours pass with no signs an intruder, I think I’ve won.

But then it returns, side-stepping the trap – “how stupid do you think I am?” – to gorge on Go-Cat. I am being outwitted by a rat.

At the weekend, after careful analysis, I concluded that the only conceivable entry point was a bricked-up old catflap with an ex-tumbledrier ventpipe running through it. So I knocked out all the bricks and smashed up the ventpipe in my search for a tiny rat-hole – they can squeeze through a 5p-sized gap. When I had finished, I had created a gaping hole large enough for not just a single rat but a herd of wildebeest to sweep through, lick out the catbowl and make off with the larderful of pouches that Morris keeps should the pangs of hunger strike – Salmon Dinner in Sauce, Chicken and Liver Dinner in Meaty Juices, Filet Mignon in Meaty Juices, Roasted Turkey and Giblets Dinner, this cat certainly dines in style.

As does its associated rat.

I filled up the hole so it was impenetrable, but still the rat came back. In fact, I now worry that I’ve done too good a job, and sealed it into the cavity wall forever.

People are offering advice. Some swear by ultrasonic rat repellent devices, but I reckon this rodent would just buy some earplugs and carry on.

Other people say wire wool is the answer because it grates against a rat’s teeth in a most unpleasant way (a rat’s front teeth grow 5½ inches a year but they wear them down by gnawing). Then there’s poison, but that’ll end with a body decomposing putridly inside the wall.

And someone has suggested that I get a cat.

If only there were a concert I could go to locally to escape from the rat in mi kitchen. What am I gonna do? Any ideas welcome before I turn to the red, red wine.